Identity
by Bad Mum
Summary: An unexpected inheritance brings a shock for Bill Weasley, one which rocks his sense of identity and which has the potential to rip his family apart. Dedicated to the people of the Teachers' Lounge with love.
1. I

_The idea for this story has been in my head for a very long time, and was consolidated by the Role Play thread at the Teachers' Lounge Forum._

_It's dedicated to all my friends at the TL, with particular thanks to Debbie (Snarky64) for her encouragement, ideas and nagging, and to Fred (Intervigilium) for playing such an awesome Bill in the RP._

_I_

"I don't understand." Bill Weasley regarded the goblin before him with a puzzled expression. "There must be a mistake."

Haglun glowered at him. "We do not make mistakes, Mr Weasley," he said. "You know that. If there is a mistake, it is not of Gringotts' making."

Bill shook his head, and pulled out his wand for another try at getting through the wards on the thick document lying in front of them on the desk. As before, he penetrated the outer wards with no trouble, but the last one – the one related not to the date or to his age, but to his family, remained impenetrable.

"It doesn't make sense!" he said, his tone raised in exasperation. "The date and my age are right; I can get through those wards easily enough, but the Weasley family one…."

Haglun regarded him impassively. Inwardly, he was thinking that he obviously knew more of the intrigues and secrets of wizarding families than the increasingly angry young man in front of him. The obvious solution had clearly not yet occurred to Bill Weasley. When he spoke, however, his voice was silky and completely neutral.

"I could get another Curse Breaker to check the wards if you like," he said, but Bill shook his head.

"No. I don't want to be the object of office gossip thank you very much. Besides," he grinned wryly. "I'm the best you've got and you know it. If I can't find a problem with the wards themselves, it means there isn't one. The problem isn't the wards, it's – it's me."

He swallowed hard, as he finally realised the implications of what he had just said.

Until less than an hour ago, when Haglun had called him into his office, he had not known of the existence of the document. Haglun had explained, concisely as was the way of the Gringotts goblins, that the document was the deeds to a number of small parcels of land in the north of England, now administered by Muggle lawyers. Although the lawyers were unaware of it, the land actually belonged to the Weasley family, and (once the Muggles' administrative expenses were deducted) brought in a small but not insignificant income.

Bill had interrupted him at this point, half amused.

"Hang on, Haglun," he said. "Are you telling me my family actually has some income that they haven't earned for themselves? Because my family never had a Sickle we didn't work for. If these properties are ours, how come I've never heard of them?"

Haglun lifted a hand. "If you'll just let me finish, Mr Weasley. The charter attached to the deeds was drawn up in the early nineteenth century to satisfy one of your ancestors. The gentlemen in question had no sons. He also had no love for his younger brothers, and no faith that his nephews would escape what he saw as their bad influence until they were well into adulthood. The charter therefore states that the deeds and the properties they relate to can only be passed on between generations, not between brothers or cousins of the same generation, and only when the heir in the subsequent generation reaches the age of thirty." He inclined his head slightly. "As you just have. When your Uncle Bilius Weasley died, the deeds could not pass to your father as he is of the same generation. They come to you as his eldest relative in the next generation." He regarded Bill slyly. "I – ah – had the impression that Mr Bilius Weasley was not the kind of man who would share his private monetary affairs with others, even his own family. Which would account for you never having heard of this before."

Bill had grinned at that. He remembered his Uncle Bilius as being eccentric and irascible, good-natured one moment, and looking for a quarrel the next. No, he was not the type to share his business; and he certainly had never been generous enough to share any extra income with a younger brother with small means and a large family.

He had nodded. "That makes sense," he conceded. "So you're saying these properties are mine now?"

Haglun bent his head in agreement. "You must be able to get through the wards on the document, put in place to ensure that only the rightful Weasley heir can claim the deeds and the properties, and only when he reaches the correct age to do so. That, of course, should be no problem at all."

But it had been. With his training as a Curse Breaker, Bill was able to recognise the exact point where the document's wards refused to yield to him. To an untrained wizard, it would just appear that he could not open the document. To a Curse Breaker, used to dealing with layers of protection, the exact point of the problem was obvious. The layer that Bill could not penetrate was the one relating to the Weasley family, the layer that could only be penetrated by the rightful Weasley heir.

Which led to one obvious – if incredible – conclusion. That he, Bill Weasley, was not in fact who he thought he was.


	2. II

_II_

Afterwards, Bill did not remember what he said to Haglun or walking back to his own office. He must have said something about needing to talk to his parents, he must have walked through the familiar corridors, but he remembered nothing about it.

He sat down behind his desk and buried his head in his hands. None of this made sense. Possibilities whirled through his mind, one succeeding another. Perhaps he had made a mistake about the wards; maybe they _had_ been set up wrongly. He'd love to believe that, but even as he thought it he dismissed it out of hand. He was damn good at his job – he would have spotted any faults in the wards easily enough.

So – logically – it followed that if he could not get through the Weasley family wards, then he was not a Weasley. In name he was, but that kind of ward yielded to blood not name. The fact that his parents had been married a scant six months when he was born would not affect it. Even if his parents had not been married at all, if Arthur Weasley was his father, his blood would get him through the wards.

So – Arthur Weasley was not his father? That was the only answer that made sense, but it made no sense. How could his father not be his father?

Bill groaned and scrubbed at his eyes with his hands. Suddenly all he wanted was to be at home. Perhaps Fleur would be able to make more sense of this than he could. It was well before his normal time for leaving work but he did not care. There was no way he'd get anything useful done today anyway.

He had to concentrate harder than usual to Apparate without Splinching himself, but he managed it. He walked from the Apparition point at the end of the garden, and approached the cottage quietly. Through the window of the pretty living room, he could see his wife and daughter sitting opposite each other on the floor. Fleur was building coloured wooden blocks into a tower, and Victoire was repeatedly knocking them down and giggling wildly. Fleur was laughing too.

Bill entered the cottage through the back door and went into the living room, scooping his daughter up into his arms as he did so. Fleur's laughter died abruptly when she saw his face and she looked up at him anxiously.

"Chéri?" she asked. "You are very early. Is something wrong?"

Bill did not answer, but sat down on the floor with Victoire on his lap and started building the bricks into a tower again. He did not look at Fleur.

"Chéri?" she said again, more sharply than before. "Something _is_ wrong. Tell me, Bill."

Haltingly, continuing to build up the bricks for the baby, Bill told her the story.

"Arthur is not your father?" she asked incredulously when he had finished. "But that makes no sense, Bill. He must be. You must 'ave made a mistake."

He shook his head, finally raising his head to look at her, and she saw the confusion in his eyes.

"I didn't," he said. "I'm sure I didn't, Fleur. I wish I had." He sighed. "I guess I need to talk to my – to Mum and Dad."

Fleur reached across and put her hand on his. "Not to both of them," she said gently. "To your mother."

Bill looked at her blankly, and then comprehension dawned.

"You mean that Dad might not know?" he asked incredulously.

Fleur shrugged. "Well, it is possible, n'est-ce pas?" she said. "I cannot believe that Molly is not your mother. You look enough like your brothers and Ginny, and she 'as said often enough that you look like your Uncle Gideon. But if Arthur is not your father…" She shrugged again. "Well, it is possible that 'e does not know this"

She reached over and picked up Victoire. "Go and talk to your mother, chéri," she said quietly. "Now, while your father – while Arthur – will still be at work."

Bill nodded. He was tempted to ask Fleur to go with him, but he knew this was something he must do alone. He leant over and kissed his wife and daughter and then stood up and left the house, walking rapidly to the Apparition point in the garden. Fleur watched him go anxiously. The baby began to cry.


	3. III

_III_

Again, it took Bill more than the usual concentration to Apparate safely. His mother was in the kitchen as he let himself in quietly through the back door of The Burrow. She turned around, smiling, as he entered.

"Bill dear! What a nice surprise!" She looked behind him hopefully. "Where are Victoire and Fleur?"

"I'm on my own today." Bill's voice sounded odd even to himself. "I-I need to talk to you about something."

Molly frowned, but spoke lightly. "That sounds serious. Sit down, dear, and I'll make us a cup of tea."

"No!" Bill spoke more loudly than he had intended to, and he swallowed before continuing in a quieter tone. "Just sit down, Mum, please."

She moved towards him but did not sit down.

"You're scaring me, Bill," she said. "What's the matter?"

Bill had meant to lead up to his question gently, a step at a time, but now he just blurted it out.

"Mum, is Dad my real father?"

Molly went so white that Bill thought for a moment that she would faint. She raised her hands to her mouth and looked at him with eyes that were wide and horrified.

"How-how did you find out?" she whispered. "There was no way for you to find out. No one knew, no one. You didn't need to know. It didn't matter!"

Her voice was becoming louder and shriller, and she swayed where she stood. Bill stepped forward quickly and guided her to a chair at the scrubbed wooden table. Now that his worst fears were confirmed, he felt surprisingly calm. He sat down on the opposite side of the table and reached across it to pull her hands down from her face, which was streaked with tears.

"It was a mistake," she sobbed. "A terrible, terrible mistake. I was so young, and so, so stupid. I never meant for it to happen. And you should never have known!" Her voice rose higher, and she looked at Bill accusingly. "Hasn't Arthur been father enough for you?" she demanded. "Has he ever treated you any differently from the others? Has he?"

"Dad knows?" Bill knew the minute the words left his mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. His mother reached across the table and slapped him hard across the face.

"How dare you?" she gasped. "How dare you ask me that? Of course he knows. Do you think I'd lie to him about this? What do you take me for? A slut? Your own mother?"

"Mum, I'm sorry, I didn't mean… Of course I didn't mean that!" But Bill's protests were cut short as Molly stood up.

"Just go, Bill, please," she said calmly. "I have no idea how you've found this out, but you don't need to know and I'm not going to discuss it with you. Arthur is your father. Let that be enough for you."

Bill was frankly angry now. He stood up too and confronted her across the table.

"Don't you think I have the right to know who I am?" he demanded.

"Don't be melodramatic, Bill!" Molly said shakily. "You're the same person you were yesterday and the day before and the day you were born." She sat down again abruptly and raised her eyes to him. "And Arthur is the only father you've ever had or needed." She swallowed hard. "Just go, dear, please."

Bill turned on his heel and walked out, slamming the door hard behind him.


	4. IV

_IV_

Two hours later, Fleur was in the kitchen at Shell Cottage. Victoire was in the highchair, happily smearing most of her baked potato and mince onto her face, and throwing pieces of sweetcorn very carefully onto the floor one at a time. Fleur herself was seated at the table. A magazine, _Le Sortilège de Sorcière_, was open in front of her, but she was not reading it; she was too worried about Bill's continued absence. Surely he should have found out what he needed to from his mother by now? Why had he not come home?

There was a knock at the back door, and she looked up with relief, but it was her father-in-law, not her husband, who entered. She had rarely seen him look so serious. Victoire crowed and waved her arms in the air at the sight of her Grandpa, but he ignored her for once.

"Fleur, where's Bill?" he asked abruptly. "I need to talk to him."

Fleur stood up slowly. "He is not here," she said. "I thought 'e was still at The Burrow. He went to talk to Molly."

"I know. That's why I'm here," Arthur said. "But he left over an hour ago. You mean he hasn't come back?"

Fleur shook her head, biting her lip, and Arthur sat down heavily at the table. "What a mess," he said. "Molly's very upset."

"So is Bill, I imagine," said Fleur tartly. "It is true then? You are not his true father? Molly told him zat?"

Arthur winced and then sighed. "Strictly speaking, no I'm not," he conceded. "But I feel like his father, I always have. Truly Fleur, I've never felt any differently about Bill than about any of the others."

His voice cracked as he spoke, and Fleur's attitude softened a little. She moved over to the kitchen counter and began to make a cup of tea. Arthur smiled ruefully.

"Bill's made an Englishwoman of you," he said. "Tea in a crisis."

Fleur shrugged. "Ah, it 'elps," she said. "Sometimes." She put a mug of tea in front of Arthur, and sat down herself with her own. "What did Molly tell Bill?" she asked.

Arthur shook his head. "Nothing, other than the fact that I'm not – I'm not his father," he said. "She refused to tell him any more." He took a mouthful of tea. "They argued. Bill left." He hesitated. "Molly said he was very angry."

"I am not surprised," said Fleur shortly. "Surely 'e has a right to know?"

Arthur nodded. "I agree," he said quietly. "Which is why I need to talk to him." He looked up at her. "I can't tell you any more, Fleur, not until Bill knows. It's his right to know first."

"I see that." Fleur stood up and went to see to the baby, who, despairing of any attention from the adults, had thrown her bowl and spoon to the floor and was now attempting to climb out of the highchair. Fleur waved her wand to remove the worst of the mess from Victoire's hands, face and clothing and then picked her up and carried her over to Arthur.

"Here," she said, depositing the baby on his lap. "Look after your granddaughter while I deal with the mess she 'as made."

Arthur smiled and Victoire giggled and reached up to grab Arthur's glasses. Arthur laughed too as he fended her off.

"Thank you," he said quietly to Fleur. "For calling her my granddaughter."

Fleur smiled slightly sadly as she picked Victoire's discarded bowl and spoon up from the floor. "Well, she is," she said. "I do not know what is behind all this, but I do know that you are the only father that Bill 'as ever 'ad." She shrugged. "Which makes you Victoire's grandfather." She crossed the kitchen to the sink and dumped the bowl and spoon in it. Looking out of the window over the grey sky and sea she whispered, half to herself. "I just wish that he would come home." She blinked back tears before turning back to her father-in-law. "Where is 'e?"


	5. V

_V_

Bill had no very clear idea where he was going when he left The Burrow. He headed down the lane that led to the village, walking fast and barely aware of where he was. When he came to himself, he realised he was behind the old village church, in the graveyard. Without thinking about it, he had come to the corner where the wizarding graves were, and he was standing in front of the stone commemorating his Prewett uncles.

"At least I haven't lost them," he muttered, and realised abruptly the full implications of the revelations of the afternoon. Had he lost his father? The only father he had ever known? Suddenly, there was a lump in his throat and his view of the gravestone was blurred by tears. He put out a hand to the cold grey marble to steady himself. He had no idea what to do next.

He did not know how long he stood there before he heard voices that he recognised: George and Ron. His brothers – half-brothers – were the last people he wanted to see right now, but their appearance was enough to make him realise who he did want to talk to. He moved quickly and quietly away from the graves, managing to conceal himself behind some yews and leave the churchyard by the gate before George and Ron came into sight. He walked far enough down the road that he knew they would not hear him, took a deep breath to steady himself and Apparated to the steps of Gringotts. Gringotts Portkeys were supposed to be used strictly for Gringotts business, but it was a rule that every employee broke now and again. He let himself in through a side door, and ten minutes later was holding a battered beer bottle that would take him Romania. He needed to talk to someone about all this, and he felt that Charlie was the best bet to help him make sense of it. Belatedly, he realised that Fleur would be worried about him, and sent a Gringotts owl with a message saying he would be back tomorrow. It would scarcely satisfy her, but it was the best he could manage right now.

Little more than an hour after leaving The Burrow, he was banging on the door of the house Charlie shared with two of his colleagues in Romania, hoping earnestly that tonight was not Charlie's turn to do the night shift with the dragons. He was in luck. Charlie himself opened the door and stepped back in astonishment at the sight of his brother.

"Bill! What are you doing here?" Then, as the light from the hall fell on Bill's face and he saw it properly, his own face sobered. "What's wrong?" he asked sharply. "Is everyone okay? Mum? Dad?"

Bill shook his head. "They're fine," he said. "Everyone's fine. I just – I need to talk to you about something, Charlie."

Charlie put out a hand and pulled him into the house. "Come in, it's cold out there," he ordered. In the hall, he looked at his brother worriedly. There were voices and laughter coming from the closed door that led out of the hall. "_You're_ not fine," Charlie said. "Come upstairs, then we can talk."

He led the way up the narrow staircase and into his room. It was large and airy and far from tidy, with an unmade bed in the corner and clothes and books strewn across the floor. Charlie swept a map and something which looked like a fishing rod from the armchair near the fireplace and waved his brother into it. He flicked his wand to light a fire in the grate, and took a seat opposite Bill.

"Tell me," he ordered. "Have you and Fleur fallen out? It must be something bad – you look dreadful."

"Thanks," Bill said dryly. "No, it's nothing like that. Fleur and I are fine. It's something completely different."

Haltingly he told Charlie the story, from the unexpected call to Haglun's office and his realisation of what his inability to penetrate the wards on the document meant, to his confrontation with their mother. Charlie was a good listener. Although he exclaimed once or twice, and gave a low whistle when Bill told him about Molly slapping him and telling him to leave, he did not interrupt. There was silence for a minute or two once Bill had finished the story. Charlie broke it by leaning forward to throw more wood onto the fire.

"Have you eaten?" he asked Bill abruptly.

Bill looked at him surprise. "What? No. But I'm not hungry."

Charlie stood up. "Stay there," he ordered. "I'll find us some grub, and – more importantly – something to drink. I think we both need it." He dropped a hand onto his brother's shoulder as he passed him. "Won't be long," he said breezily, then he was gone. Bill leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. Telling Charlie had helped a little. Even if they couldn't find any answers, he no longer felt as if he were alone in this. Charlie understood as no one – not even Fleur – could. They had shared their childhood after all.


	6. VI

_VI_

Charlie was back in a few minutes levitating two steaming plates in front of him and carrying several bottles of the Romanian beer that Bill remembered from his last visit. Charlie handed a plate of curry and rice and an open bottle to Bill, and sat down with a plate and bottle of his own.

"Raj's turn to cook tonight," he observed. "His family makes ours looks small, so he always makes too much. "

To his own surprise, Bill found that he was hungry, and the two of them ate in a companionable silence. Once they were finished, Charlie waved his wand to banish the dirty plates to a corner of the room and looked at his brother earnestly.

"So, I suppose we can't put off talking about this any longer," he said. "Where do we start?"

Bill sighed and leant back in his chair. "Merlin only knows," he said. "It keeps going round and round in my head, and I can't make any sense of it. I keep coming back to the fact that Mum must've cheated on Dad, and I can't imagine that happening."

Charlie took a swig of his beer before he answered. "Nor me," he said. "They weren't married then though. Mum was pregnant with you when they got married."

Bill smiled humourlessly. "We're supposed to pretend we don't know that," he said. "Or we were, anyway." He sighed and took a mouthful from his own bottle. "I guess this makes the matter of whether Mum was pregnant or not pretty irrelevant." He shook his head. "Anyway, I don't see it makes a difference that they weren't married. They'd been together since forever and they were engaged. Then she goes off and fucks another bloke."

Charlie's head went up sharply at that. "Godric, Bill! This is Mum you're talking about!"

"Well, so what?" Bill asked loudly. He knew it didn't make sense to take his anger out on Charlie, but he couldn't help himself. "Would it make it different if I phrased it differently? She was engaged to Dad and she slept with someone else. Happy now?" His voice cracked on the last word and he dropped his face into his hands. Charlie regarded him in silence for a moment and then he put down his beer bottle and came to crouch in front of Bill, putting an arm round his shoulders.

"Hey," he said quietly. "This doesn't change who you are, you know."

There were tears on Bill's face when he raised it. "Doesn't it?" he asked harshly. "It feels to me like it does. It feels like I don't know who I am any more."

Charlie pulled him into a hug and rubbed his back. "You're the same person you've always been," he said gently. "Mine and the kids' big brother. Fleur's husband. Victoire's daddy. Nothing changes all that, Bill." He felt his brother shake his head against his chest, but he did not answer. Charlie could feel him shaking as he struggled to control himself, and he continued to hold him and rub his back. Eventually, Bill pulled away from him, turning his face away and scrubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands.

"Sorry," he muttered gruffly. "It's just…" His voice trailed off and he shrugged.

Charlie smiled sympathetically. "It's a bit much to come to terms with, hey?" he asked. "But I meant what I said, Bill. Nothing changes who you are yourself."

"It does," Bill said obstinately. "You're the oldest Weasley kid now, not me."

Charlie sat back on his heels and shook his head. "No way," he said. "You're not passing that off on me. I'm not nearly responsible enough to be the oldest." His voice quietened as he continued. "Mum was right about one thing, you know," he said. "Dad never did treat you any differently from the rest of us. I've been racking my brains, and I really can't think that he did."

Bill looked at him with a frown. "D'you really think Dad knew all along?" he asked. "That he married her knowing she was pregnant with someone else's kid?"

Charlie frowned too, but nodded. "From the way you said Mum reacted when you asked her if Dad knew, I'd say he must've done," he said slowly. "It's like asking her if Dad knew was worse than asking her if she'd slept with someone else."

Bill nodded thoughtfully. "Because that was the bit where she had done the right thing?" he asked. "So she could be angry with me for questioning that. Makes sense I suppose."

"Yeah." Charlie stood up and returned to his own chair. "And if that's the case, you can be sure of one thing."

"What?"

"Dad regarded you as his own right from the start." Charlie sounded very certain, but Bill looked at him incredulously.

"How the hell d'you work that one out?" he asked blankly.

Charlie grinned and raised his bottle to his brother. "Your name of course, idiot," he said. "William Arthur. He could've given you a name from Mum's side of the family and saved the Arthur for the next one along." He shrugged. "For me in fact. But he didn't. He gave you his name."

Bill's face cleared slightly as he realised the truth of what Charlie had said. "You're right," he agreed. He looked at his brother and Charlie saw the confusion in his face. "I don't _want_ another father, Charlie. But now I know this much, it's like I have to know all of it. Does that make sense?"

"I suppose so." Charlie sounded doubtful. "But it could be anyone, Bill. Someone we know. Someone we've never heard of. Someone you'd rather it wasn't."

"I know that," Bill conceded. "But I can't go on not knowing, Charlie, really I can't." He leant back in his chair and closed his eyes. "I'll have to try to talk to Mum again." He shuddered slightly. "Not looking forward to that!"

"Mmm," Charlie said. "Though you could try Dad first. Now you know he knows. At least he won't cry all over you." He shook himself and stood up. "But not tonight. Tonight there's a nice little bar in Bacău that requires our presence. Coming?"

Bill smiled reluctantly, stood up and followed his brother from the room.


	7. VII

_With many thanks to the awesome Debbie, for her extraordinary patience with this chapter!.Sending her virtual roses and chocolate and no songs of angry perish at all._

_VII_

When Arthur returned to The Burrow, he found Molly sitting very upright on the settee staring at nothing at all. One of the Christmas sweaters – George's from the colour – was on her lap, but she was not working on it. She looked up as Arthur came in, and he saw that her eyes were red and her face tearstained. But her voice when she spoke was relatively steady.

"Did you talk to Bill? What did he say?"

Arthur sat down beside her and took her hand. "I didn't get the chance," he said ruefully. "He wasn't at home, and Fleur didn't know where he was."

Molly frowned. "Really? Or was she lying to you?"

Arthur sighed. "Really Moll, there's no need for that. She was telling the truth, I'm sure of it. She was genuinely worried when I said that Bill had already left here. And she was kind, very kind."

"What did you tell her?" Molly demanded fiercely.

"Nothing. Nothing at all except what she already suspected from what Bill had told her – that I'm not his father."

Molly shook her head and began to cry again. "You are," she sobbed. "You're the only father he's ever had or needed. I don't understand how this has got dragged up after so long. How could he possibly find out? No one knew."

Arthur put his arm around her and pulled her close. "Fleur told me that," he said. "Apparently there's some old family inheritance that can only be passed on between generations and only when the heir reaches thirty. Bill got called into an office in Gringotts and presented with the deeds to some properties, and then couldn't get through the family wards." He smiled grimly. "Of course, if he'd done any other job at all, he'd just have thought someone had made a mistake and probably forgotten about the whole thing in a day or two. But as it is, he knew why the wards wouldn't yield to him, and jumped to the conclusion that that meant he wasn't a Weasley." He closed his eyes and leant back. "Not by blood at least. If it hadn't been for the inheritance – which Bilius had kept to himself when it was his – Bill would never have known or suspected anything was wrong."

Molly snorted. "Bilius! He always was a troublemaker."

Arthur sighed. "Now Molly, we can't blame anyone for all this than ourselves. We should have told Bill years ago." He pulled Molly close and kissed her gently. "It's a mess, love," he murmured. "But we'll work through it. We've come through worse."

Molly was crying now and she buried her face in her husband's chest. "It's all my fault," she said indistinctly. "If I hadn't been so stupid all those years ago…"

Arthur cut her off abruptly. "Molly, that's over. It's dead and buried long ago. You made a mistake and we dealt with it the way we thought best. Maybe we were wrong, but we did the best we could."

Molly's response was indistinguishable, but Arthur could just make out the words "all my fault". He hugged her more tightly and kissed her. "It wasn't," he said firmly. "If I'd never left you at that wretched party, it would never have happened. I shouldn't have abandoned you there." He sighed. "And we were so young. Think about it Moll – we were Ron and Ginny's age."

Molly swallowed, trying to control her tears. "Ginny would have more sense than I did," she said shakily. "I hope so, anyway!"

Arthur smiled. "If I agree with you, will you be angry?" he asked, and Molly managed a shaky smile herself. She pulled herself upright and away from Arthur and looked straight at him.

"What are we going to do, Arthur?" she asked.

Arthur looked at her dubiously. He was pretty sure she wouldn't like his answer. "We have to tell Bill everything," he said firmly. "Now he knows so much, it's his right to know all of it."

Molly shook her head, her smile dying. "No," she said obstinately. "He didn't need to know before and he still doesn't. Give it time and he'll calm down and realise that. You're the only father he needs, Arthur."

Arthur stood up and paced about the room restlessly. "He won't, you know," he said quietly. "Bill's not the type to let things go. Charlie might, or George, not Bill. Anyway, now he knows so much, we have to tell him the rest. He has a right to know."

"I don't want him to know. I don't want any of them to know how stupid I was." Molly's voice was low, but very determined. "What difference can it possibly make? His father's dead. I don't want you to tell him, Arthur."

"Molly love, that won't work," Arthur said sadly. "Now he knows so much, he has to know all of it. If we don't tell him, he'll jump to his own conclusions about what happened. He won't let it go. Surely you can see that?"

"No I can't!" Molly shouted, getting to her feet and looking up at her husband angrily. "He's been happy all his life not knowing, I don't see why he should know now! I'm not going to tell him anything, however many times he asks."

"Well I am," Arthur responded. His voice shook a little, but his face was calm. He reached out to Molly, but she pulled away from him. "I've lost one son, Molly. I'm not about to lose another if I can help it, and if we keep him in the dark about this, we will lose him, you can be sure."

"No. No we won't. He doesn't need to know, Arthur, he doesn't. And we won't lose him. We can't. He's our _son_." Molly finished on a sob, and turned away from Arthur, avoiding his hands outstretched to her.

"But he isn't my son, not really," Arthur said sadly. "What if I lose him, Molly? What if all this means he doesn't see me as his dad any more?"

Molly didn't answer, but she turned back to her husband and let him fold her in his arms. Then the two of them went up the stairs together.


	8. VIII

_VIII_

Charlie was an early riser, dragons being no respecter of human hours, so it was still dark when Bill Apparated back to Shell Cottage from Gringotts. He let himself in quietly, and lit the fire already laid in the living room. There was no sound from upstairs and he knew better than to go up and risk waking Victoire. He was probably in enough trouble with his wife already. He sat in the armchair by the fire, closed his eyes and tried to think of what he should do next. It was clear that he needed to talk to his parents – even with the knowledge that Arthur Weasley was not his true father it was impossible to think of them as anything other than his parents – but he knew from his mother's reaction the previous day how reluctant she would be to tell him anything. Perhaps Charlie was right and he should go to his father – to Arthur – first.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not hear the baby crying upstairs, nor Fleur moving about as she got up to see to her. He looked up in surprise when Fleur entered the room, Victoire in her arms.

She stopped short at the sight of him, her expression unreadable.

"It would 'ave been nice," she said without preamble, "if you had bothered to tell me where you were. It is only because your brother 'ad the consideration to send me an owl saying you were with him that I knew anything at all."

"I'm sorry," Bill said. "I should have told you. I was just so confused I couldn't think straight. I'm sorry, love."

"Mmm." Fleur looked only slightly mollified. "Charlie said that you were upset and I shouldn't be too 'ard on you." She sat down in the corner of the settee and began to feed the baby, who was becoming increasingly restless. Bill stood up and came over to her, kissing her gently on the lips and then kissing the top of Victoire's head.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "Forgive me, please."

Fleur almost smiled. "Make me some coffee and I might," she said. Bill smiled and kissed her again before retreating to the kitchen to do as he was told.

He returned in a few minutes with two mugs of coffee, which he set down on the low table in front of the settee. He sat down beside his wife and risked slipping an arm around her shoulders. She snuggled into him and he knew he was forgiven.

"I missed you last night," she murmured. "Especially at three o'clock in ze morning when your daughter decided it was playtime."

"I'm sorry," Bill said again, reaching over and stroking the baby's silky hair. "Were you a bad girl for Maman, Victoire? You're supposed to be good when Daddy's not here." The baby regarded him through half-open eyes, but carried on feeding hungrily.

"Pass me my coffee, chéri," Fleur requested. "Did talking to Charlie help at all?"

Bill frowned as he passed her the mug. "A bit I think," he said consideringly. "But he's as confused as I am. Neither of us can imagine Mum cheating on Dad like that."

Fleur took a mouthful of her coffee and then passed the mug to Bill to set down as Victoire finally decided her meal was over and detached herself. Sitting the baby upright and rubbing her back gently, Fleur looked at her husband thoughtfully. "You do not know what 'appened though," she said. "It might not 'ave been as you imagine it, Bill."

Bill frowned. "She was engaged to Dad and she slept with someone else," he said. "However you look at it, it doesn't look good, Fleur."

"I suppose not," Fleur said quietly. "But she was so young, Bill, only Ginny's age. Per'aps someone took advantage of her."

"Rape, do you mean?" Bill asked sharply. "Is that supposed to make me feel better, that I might have been conceived through rape?"

Fleur shook her head adamantly. "Non, non. That is not what I mean at all," she said firmly. "I just mean that she was very young and might have got herself in a situation where things went too far without her meaning them to. You said she said it was all a terrible mistake, n'est-ce pas?"

"That's true," Bill said slowly. "I suppose it could have been something like that." He sighed. "I really have to try talking to her again – or to Dad."

"I think your father would be the best one to talk to first," Fleur said, handing him the baby and standing up. "He came here last night looking for you." She smiled grimly. "He said zat your mother was very upset."

"Dad came here?" Bill asked. "What did he tell you?"

"Nothing, nothing at all," Fleur said soothingly. "He said it was your right to know first, so 'e could not tell me anything." She hesitated. "He was upset too, Bill. 'E was so glad when I called Victoire his granddaughter. I think he thinks he might have lost you."

Bill stood too, and put an arm around her, cradling their daughter in the other. "And here's me scared I might have lost him," he murmured. "You're right, love, I need to talk to Dad."

Fleur smiled and kissed him. "I am usually right," she said serenely. "But now, Victoire 'as 'ad her breakfast and I want mine. Come and eat, chéri. You can go to your father – to Arthur - after that."


	9. IX

_Finally, the revelation... Sorry this has been so long in coming!_

_IX_

Bill waited with barely concealed impatience as his wand was weighed and his visitor's badge issued at the Ministry of Magic. It had seemed the best course of action to talk to his father at work rather than at The Burrow, but now he was having doubts. What if his father was too busy to see him? Worse, what if he refused to see him?

"Bill! What are you doing here?"

Damn. Percy was the last person that Bill wanted to see right now, but he forced a smile, and tried to greet his brother normally.

"Hi Perce. I just need to see Dad about something."

Percy looked at him dubiously. "At work?" The look Bill gave him showed clearly enough that he wasn't going to get any more from his elder brother, and he shrugged. "I'll take you up if you like." The watch-wizard handed over Bill's visitor badge, and he followed Percy to the lifts at the end of the lobby. To his relief, the lift was crowded, so Percy had no chance to question him further about why he was there. But Percy put out a hand and drew him to one side as they left the lift.

"What's going on?" he demanded. "Dad looked awful when I saw him earlier – really upset – and you don't look much better. What's going on, Bill?"

Bill sighed and shook his head. "It's complicated," he said. "Nothing personal, Perce, but I really can't tell you." He could tell before he had finished speaking that that was not enough to satisfy his brother. Percy was frowning.

"Are you arguing about something?" he asked abruptly. "Don't, Bill. It's not worth it."

Bill resisted the urge to say, "Well, you should know." Instead he said, "Believe me, Percy, we're both doing our level best not to. But I can't tell you any more. I really can't."

Percy relaxed visibly. "Sorry, Bill. I know it's not my business, but…" He hesitated and shrugged. "I guess I'm just a bit edgy when it comes to family rows."

Bill managed a smile for him. "I know," he said. "It won't come to that. Or at least," he amended, thinking of his mother's reaction when he had asked her about his parentage, "I sincerely hope it won't. Can I go and talk to Dad now?"

Percy grinned. "Be my guest." He led the way down the corridor to their father's office and rapped sharply on the door. He put a hand briefly on Bill's shoulder, and then he was gone.

Bill responded to his father's "Come in!" and stopped just inside the door. His father was just turning away from the magical window, and Percy had been right – he did look pretty awful.

"Bill…" Arthur waved vaguely at the chair in front of the desk, but Bill did not take it. The two of them stood looking at each other for a long minute, neither knowing what to say. In the end, it was Arthur who broke the silence.

"I'm glad you've come, Bill."

Bill half smiled. "I thought it would be better than at The Burrow."

"You're right there, son," Arthur said with a sigh. "Your mother…" He didn't finish the sentence, but the silence spoke for him.

"I met Percy outside," Bill said. "He asked me if we were having a row. We're not, are we?"

"I hope not," Arthur said. "Sit down, Bill, for Merlin's sake."

This time Bill obeyed and sat down. He looked up at his father, who was still standing by the window.

"Just tell me, Dad. Please," he said.

Arthur took a deep breath. "Alastor Moody," he said.

Bill gaped at him. "Mad-Eye? Mad-Eye Moody's my father?"

Arthur nodded. "He was a good man, Bill. A good, brave man. You can be proud of having him as your father."

That brought Bill to his feet. "I don't want him to be my father! I never wanted any other father but you!" He choked on the last word, and turned away from Arthur, struggling to control himself. He swallowed hard, and with his back still to Arthur said, "I saw him die." Suddenly, that fact seemed terribly important. He turned round and repeated it. "I saw him die, Dad."

"I know, son, I know." Arthur took a step towards Bill, and then stopped, one hand extended towards him. For a moment he thought it would be easy, that Bill would come to him and things would be as they had been between them two short days ago. But Bill did not close the remaining space between them. He shook his head, blinking rapidly and scrubbing the back of his hand across his eyes.

"I can't… I'm sorry, I can't… I'm sorry, Dad, I'm sorry!" Then he turned and strode rapidly from the room, banging the door behind him.


	10. X

_X_

By the time he reached the Atrium, Bill was shaking. The memorial to the dead of the wars against Voldemort filled one wall. Bill knew well enough where to find some names – Fred, his Prewett uncles, Tonks, Remus. Suddenly it seemed terribly important to find Alastor Moody's name; he had never looked for it before. He located it at last, and with a curious feeling of satisfaction, touched it with the tip of his wand so that it glowed red amongst the yellow and gold of the other names. "My father," he muttered under his breath. "My father." It did not seem real. Sighing, he lit Fred's name, Fabian's, Gideon's, Tonks' and Remus' before turning away. He had stopped shaking, but his chest and throat felt tight; breathing was difficult. He felt the walls of the Ministry closing in on him. He needed to escape.

He jumped at a touch on his arm.

"Bill? Are you okay?" It was Percy again.

Bill shook his head, swallowing hard. "No. Not really. Just get me out of here, Perce, please."

Percy frowned, but took his arm and guided him towards one of the fireplaces on the far side of the Atrium. He threw in some Floo powder, pulled Bill into the fireplace with him and shouted something that Bill did not catch. Seconds later, he found himself tumbling out of the fireplace in a small and remarkably tidy flat that could only be Percy's own.

Percy shrugged apologetically as he extended a hand to pull Bill to his feet. "I didn't know where you wanted to go."

Bill let himself be guided over to the settee and sat down heavily.

"This is fine, Perce, thanks," he muttered. Percy regarded him worriedly for a few seconds, and then disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a glass of Firewhiskey, which he handed wordlessly to his brother. Bill downed it in one, and began to feel that he could breathe again,

"Thanks," he said, looking up at his brother, who was still standing over him looking worried. "You're a lifesaver. I expect you're wondering what this is all about."

"Well yeah," Percy conceded, coming to sit beside Bill. "It's not like you to react like this to anything. But if it's none of my business…"

Bill shook his head. "No. I want… I want you to know." He took a deep breath. "I found out yesterday that Dad isn't my father."

"What?" Percy regarded him incredulously. "He must be, Bill! You've made a mistake, misunderstood something."

"No," Bill said heavily. "I haven't. I wish I had. Dad confirmed it. He told me just now. My father… My father is Mad-Eye – Alastor – Moody."

"Mad-Eye?" Percy's eyes were round with astonishment behind his glasses. "Mad-Eye and Mother? I can't believe it. I don't believe it! How could that happen?"

Bill held up a hand to silence him. "I don't know how," he said. "I don't know how it happened. Mum refused to talk to me about it yesterday. She wouldn't tell me anything, said I didn't need to know. And-and I just walked out on Dad after he told me it was Moody." He sighed deeply. "I-I shouldn't have done that. Dad's going to think – I don't know what he's going to think." He buried his face in his hands, and Percy had to strain to hear what he said next. "I don't want another father, Percy. I want Dad to be my father." His voice cracked, and Percy put an arm around his shoulders, at a complete loss as to what to say.

He held Bill until his shoulders stopped shaking, and then said quietly, "D'you want me to go and get Dad so you can talk? That seems to me like the best idea."

"Yes… No… I don't know!" Bill balled his fists in frustration. "I don't know what to do, Percy."

Percy stood up. "I'm going to get Dad," he said firmly. "Stay here. I won't be long." He threw some Floo powder into the fireplace, shouted, "The Ministry of Magic!" and was gone.

Left alone, Bill went into the bathroom and splashed his face with cold water. A small part of his brain registered that there were two toothbrushes in the rack and a pink dressing gown hanging on the hook on the door. At any other time, he would have looked forward to ribbing Percy mercilessly until he found out more about the mystery woman who apparently shared his flat. Right now, however, he hadn't even the energy to speculate about who she might be.

He heard the noise of the Floo in the other room and went in to see Percy helping their father to his feet. He had rarely seen him look so utterly miserable. Without thinking about it, Bill crossed the room in two strides and pulled him into a hug.

"I'm sorry, Dad," he choked. "I shouldn't have run out on you like that. I'm sorry. I don't want to lose you. I don't want any father except you."

He felt his father's arms around him, as warm and reassuring as they had always been, and heard his voice thick with emotion. "I don't want to lose you either, Bill. I couldn't bear to lose another son."

Percy had left the room and was noisily making tea in the kitchen, as if to emphasise the fact that he was giving his father and brother some privacy.

"Tell me how it happened, Dad," Bill said. "Please. Just tell me."


End file.
